


here with me

by PoeticallyIrritating



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/F, Phone Sex, i have absolutely nothing to say for myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticallyIrritating/pseuds/PoeticallyIrritating
Summary: Parker calls Sophie at night. Set during Sophie's season 2 hiatus.
Relationships: Sophie Devereaux/Parker (Leverage)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	here with me

**Author's Note:**

> listen. we're watching leverage in quarantine and i'm gay and i've written this in a feverish haze over the past 48 hours, starting from when i woke up at 4:30 am and couldn't stop thinking about it.
> 
> big shoutout to parker for being autistic and very direct because without her I absolutely would never have gotten to the point.
> 
> edit: figures that like three days after I post this I would watch the episode where we see parker's absolutely bonkers living space. I'm not going to change this but just know that I know I'm wrong.

She's already talked to Sophie once today. It seems like none of them can help themselves; she walked in while Eliot had her on video in front of yet another exotic landscape.  _ I miss you,  _ she said before they hung up. 

When she's home in her own apartment, sitting up in bed with her knees curled against her chest, she calls again. No video, just a phone call. She knows what Sophie's face looks like, and all the lights are out anyway. 

"Parker?" Sophie sounds sleepy, and Parker realizes too late that the time difference means that it's 6 a.m. for Sophie. Most people need more sleep than Parker does. 

“Hi.”

“Are you all right?”

Parker nods before remembering Sophie can't see her. “I'm fine.” Pause. “The couch feels weird without you on it.”

“Parker…”

“It's fine. I just miss you.” She hugs her knees tighter. 

Sophie's tone softens as she says, “I miss you too.”

“Good,” says Parker.

—

She calls again the next night. Nate has told them all to give Sophie space, but Parker knows Sophie will tell her to stop if she wants to.

“I’m glad Tara’s here,” says Parker. “I don’t like being stuck in a little dress letting strangers touch me.”

Sophie laughs out loud. “I should put that in my job description.” She sounds less sleepy today. It's a little later—around midnight Boston time, so not so early in the morning wherever Sophie is on the other side of the Atlantic. Parker doesn’t ask. 

“I got to break into an office on the twenty-third floor today.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It was okay. I like being upside down.” She pauses. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, darling,” says Sophie, and Parker’s stomach twinges. 

“What did you do today?” Parker isn’t sure why she’s asking, but she finds that she wants to hear the answer. 

“Today’s barely started for me, love. I ordered room service for breakfast. Took a long shower.”

Parker closes her eyes and thinks about hot water running down her skin. Then about hot water running down Sophie’s skin.

“Mm,” she says. “Sounds nice.”

“It was.” Sophie’s voice always sounds good, but it especially does right now. Sweet and luxurious, like maple syrup. Parker pictures it dripping over her. “I’m going for a walk soon. Maybe lunch at a cafe.”

_ Are you happy without us?  _ Parker wants to ask. She doesn’t. She keeps her eyes closed and pictures Sophie walking down a street somewhere in Europe or Asia. “I wish it were night for you, too,” she says. She doesn’t know how to say it better than that. She just hates that Sophie’s seeing the sun at a different time than her. 

Sophie always seems to understand, even when Parker can’t explain herself. “It’s not so far away,” she says. 

_ I miss you,  _ Parker wants to say again. But it would be redundant, so she doesn’t say anything. 

The silence goes on long enough that Parker starts to feel itchy under her skin. “Okay, bye,” she says, and hangs up.

—

The next night, when Sophie picks up, she opens the call with: “You hung up on me.”

“Sorry,” says Parker. “I’m not good at talking on the phone.”

Sophie sighs; Parker can hear the crackle of it over the line. She hopes it’s not a disappointed kind of sigh. Feelings are even harder to identify over the phone. “It’s okay,” Sophie says. “I don’t want to push you.” She doesn’t sound disappointed, and Parker’s muscles relax again.

“You’re not pushing me anywhere,” Parker says. “I called  _ you,  _ remember?”

Sophie’s laugh is comforting; Parker lets it wash over her. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So what did you do yesterday?”

“Mm…walked along the river. Started some drawings.”

Parker hums. Her knees are tucked up against her chest again. “Are you going to museums?” she asks, because it’s the kind of thing Sophie would do, and the kind of thing Parker would like to do with her.

There’s a pause, and for an instant Parker wonders if she’s done something wrong. Then Sophie says: “I think it’s best if I avoid that particular temptation for now.”

Parker is not really in the business of avoiding temptations, but she’s learning. She hasn’t stabbed anyone with a fork in a while, anyway. “Do you think you wouldn’t be able to help yourself?” she asks.

“No,” she says. “But sometimes there’s only so much you can take of pretty things you can’t touch.”

The words send a shiver down Parker’s spine, but in a nice way. She asks carefully, because she’s not sure: “Are you talking about me?”

Sophie’s laugh is shorter this time, like she’s been startled. “I don’t know,” she says finally, which helps Parker not at all. She knows that people say things that they don’t mean, or things that they themselves don’t understand, but it doesn’t mean she has to like it. 

There’s a long silence, because Parker doesn’t know how to respond to words that neither of them knows the meaning of. She lies down on the bed, flat on her stomach with her chin resting on her hands, and waits.

“Parker?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I didn’t know if you were still there.”

Parker nods before remembering Sophie can’t see her. “I’m here. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry,” says Sophie. “I don’t mean to be confusing.” Her breath crackles in Parker’s ear. “Saying what I mean doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“I know,” says Parker. “But you’re trying to learn, right?”

“Yes,” Sophie says. “I’m trying.” The crackle sound again. Parker wants to ask Sophie to hold the phone away from her mouth when she sighs, because it hurts her ears, but she also doesn’t want to lose any of the clues that could help her piece together what Sophie is thinking or feeling. “Why don’t we try again tomorrow?” Sophie asks.

“Okay,” Parker says. “Bye.” She doesn’t tell Sophie that she’s disappointed, even though she is. But Sophie also said  _ tomorrow, _ so she holds that inside her chest as she hangs up.

—

Parker calls late again. This time she's sitting curled up in a big chair in the living room, bare feet tucked underneath her. Something is playing on the TV on mute—she doesn't like most TV and the commercials are too loud, but she likes the soft, changing light. 

“Good evening, Parker,” Sophie says. 

Parker grins at no one. “Good morning, Sophie.” 

“How was your day?”

“Good. It was a two-safe day.” She doesn’t say anything about the team. Sophie knows Nate’s drinking again, and Parker wants to keep those worries on a video screen at Nate’s place, away from the safety of her own apartment, where she can sit and close her eyes until the only thing that exists is Sophie’s voice. “I miss you, though,” she says. She’s been saying that a lot, but it doesn’t stop being true. 

“Me too,” Sophie says. 

“So what were you talking about yesterday?” Parker asks. 

She’s been waiting all day to ask, but she’s only a little disappointed when there’s no answer immediately forthcoming. It’s a pretty open-ended question, after all. Maybe she should make it easier.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asks. Not in a shy way. She knows that plenty of people think she’s pretty, but usually it doesn’t matter. 

“Of course, darling,” says Sophie. 

Parker smirks a little, and holds herself tighter. That was the easy one. “Do you want to touch me?” she asks now, and she’s prepared for the long pause that awaits her. 

Finally Sophie says, “You have no idea how much.” There’s a little shiver to her voice that makes Parker think Sophie might be feeling what she’s feeling right now: a pounding heart, blood rushing to her cheeks and down below her belly. 

Parker doesn’t say:  _ Then come back,  _ even though she wants to. Instead she says, “I want that too.” 

Sophie makes a pleased sound and Parker feels the warmth of it run through her body all the way to her toes. She likes making Sophie happy; she’d like to make her feel good. With her eyes closed she imagines the sounds that Sophie would make as she comes: soft at first and then louder, more urgent.

She doesn’t realize how long the line has been silent until Sophie says, “What do you want?”

Parker doesn’t hesitate. “I want to give you an orgasm,” she says. “Or several.”

Sophie hums in approval. 

“What do  _ you _ want?” Parker asks, both because it seems like the right question and because she wants to know.

Sophie’s voice is getting distinctly lower and more breathy. “I want to feel every inch of your body,” she says. “I want to be on top of you, around you—inside you.”

Parker makes a noise like a moan. She can make herself silent if she needs to, but she doesn’t need to. And besides, she wants Sophie to hear. She clenches her thighs together, creating just enough pressure to feel. One of her hands is frozen by the waistband of her sweatpants. “Sophie,” she says. “Can I touch myself?” She meant it as a question of consent— _ can I masturbate on this phone call with you?— _ but when it comes out it sounds like she’s asking for instructions. Permission. 

She doesn’t mind it.

Sophie takes to the role Parker’s offered her easily and with pleasure. “Slowly now,” she says.

Parker slips her hand inside her underwear and feels for the wetness that’s been pooling since she dialed, drags her fingers up and down til they’re slippery. With a utilitarian mindset and maybe the judicious application of a vibrator, she can come in three minutes flat. But slow is more fun. 

“Are you going to touch yourself?” she asks, breath hitching as her fingertip draws a circle around her clit.

“Darling, if I didn’t, I think I might turn to flame.” 

Parker likes the way Sophie says things: dramatic, luxurious. “Tell me what you’re doing. I want to picture you.”

“I’m lying on the hotel bed in one of their bathrobes,” says Sophie, “and I’m soaking.”

“From the shower? Or from me?”

Sophie bursts out laughing. “Both, I suppose. But I meant from you.” 

Parker hums with pleasure. “I like that you’re wet from thinking about me.”

“Me too,” says Sophie. “Are you still touching yourself?”

“Mm-hm,” Parker says. Her eyes are closed and her fingers are moving lazily. “Hold on though, I need to untangle.” She pulls her feet out from under her and turns so she’s sideways on the chair, knees over one of the chair’s arms, head against the other. “Okay.” She brings her hand back inside her underwear. It’s cold now from the air, and her hips jump in response to the sudden change in temperature. “All set.”

Sophie laughs again. “Glad you’ve got that sorted.” A pause, and her voice goes low again. “Keep going,” she says. “Slow.”

Parker whimpers. “Sophie,” she says. Her fingers trace the swollen lips and again circle her clit, careful not to press too hard. “Remember when we jumped off a building together?”

Sophie’s breath is catching; Parker can hear it growing ragged. “Of course.”

“That was nice,” says Parker. 

“I think about it all the time,” Sophie says, and Parker’s hips jerk involuntarily. “And the first time, too—when you took me down the elevator shaft.”

Parker thinks about it now: the two of them hurtling downward, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other. “It’s kind of like sex,” she says. “Only all at once, and with higher stakes.”

“Mm,” Sophie says. It’s hard to tell whether that means she agrees or not, but Parker knows she at least understands: they all seek out adrenaline in their own ways.

Parker’s hand—the one not holding the phone—is still moving slowly, carefully. “Can I go—inside, can I finger myself?”

“God, Parker,” Sophie whispers. “Yes, yes.” She moans, and Parker thinks about Sophie and what she looks like flushed, naked, lying on top of an untied robe. “Tell me what you’re doing. What it’s like.”

Parker lifts her hips a little and gasps as she slides her fingers in. She thinks that they’re reaching the point where she should be talking sexy, but she doesn’t know how to do that beyond providing factual information, and so far Sophie hasn’t seemed to mind. “I’m using two fingers,” she reports. “It’s hot and wet.” She flexes them, and her breath catches again. “A little tight.”

“Good Lord, Parker,” Sophie breathes. 

Parker strokes out and in again, the back of her hand straining against her underwear. “I wish it was your hand,” she says. “I want you to be inside me.”

“I know, darling,” Sophie murmurs. “I know.” 

Parker pictures Sophie’s voice washing over her like a wave on the beach. She curls her fingers, and the sensation moves like a lightning bolt up through her belly to her chest. Her body is humming like an electric fence. The heel of her hand brushes her clit, and her hips jerk again. “Sophie,” she says. “I need—please—” Her words end in a whine that’s half real, half a performance to get Sophie to give her what she wants. 

“Let go,” Sophie says, her own voice husky and breathless. “I’m right behind you.”

Parker’s fingers pull out and slide over her clit, and it takes only a few urgent strokes before she’s arching up, body quivering and sighing with release. 

“Good,” says Sophie, breathless. “Good girl.” At her words, Parker shudders again, another electric shock sent through her body. 

Sophie’s louder when she comes, and Parker’s smile grows into a smirk as she listens to her cry out. She shivers with the pleasure of it: of hearing it, and of knowing that it’s for her. 

“Next time I want to help,” she says, as Sophie’s coming down. “Well, maybe not next time. But when you come back, I want to do that to you.”

She says it— _ when you come back _ —like it’s a point of fact. She’s not sure if she’s trying to convince Sophie to come back, or if she just believes she will. 

“Of course,” says Sophie. Her breathing is still irregular, but she sounds thoroughly content. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> as i said the other day...of all the characters to say "good girl" in fanfiction, sophie is the one for whom it's the most in character. and i live by that.
> 
> comments highly appreciated! i haven't marked something "explicit" since 2016 so this is a level of shameless i am no longer used to. thank youuuu.


End file.
